


The Applesauce Incident Is What Tipped Them Off, Really

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Crack, Evil Ianto, Gen, Humor, Implied D/s, dodgy aliens, implied BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen and Jack are starting to get nervous about Ianto. He's been acting out of sorts lately....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Applesauce Incident Is What Tipped Them Off, Really

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Season 2, but not spoilery for Torchwood. Spoilers for Doctor Who Season 4 finale, and you probably should know about the banana thing from DW Season One episodes "The Empty Child" and "The Doctor Dances."
> 
> This pokes fun of my usual characterization of Ianto. I mentioned to Chaos that I'd been neglecting his emo/sub side, and she warned, "Dangerous, neglecting bits of Ianto is. Spiral out of control, his dominant side might. Great destruction there would be."
> 
> I replied, "That is rather The Applesauce Incident, isn't it?"

Gwen and Ianto stood well back of the alien, flicking glances at each other.

"We should try to calm it down," said Gwen quietly. "Say something soothing."

"Right," said Ianto. "But I wouldn't mention anything about pies. Or canning."

Gwen went panicky. "Now I can't think of anything else!" she hissed.

The alien wobbled furiously at them, skin gleaming.

Ianto cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Are you lost," he said, with a distinct tone of maybe-if-I-speak-English-loud-enough-they'll-understand. "Can we help you find your way back to your bushel?"

"Ianto!" Gwen squeaked.

There was a swoosh of red, Ianto's instant smirk, then the snick and flash of a blade. The alien's inner matter glopped to the floor like melting snowdrifts.

Gwen cried out, "That was a living creature! You didn't even give it a chance!"

"It attacked me," Ianto said, calmly wiping off the blade of his paring knife. "And now it's sorted." He gave her a soft curling smile—what shivers down Gwen's spine, to think he smiled in the same way while handing out coffee!—and glanced toward the kitchenette. "I wonder if we have any cinnamon," he murmured.

~~~

A few hours later, Gwen slunk into Jack's office. "Jack," she said urgently. "I need to talk to you about something."

Jack looked up from some paperwork, brow knit at Gwen's almost-whisper, the wide snatch of her eyes to the main level of the Hub and back. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Is there another alien in the Hub?"

"Oh no, no no no," said Gwen. "We took care of the last one pretty permanently."

"Yeah," said Jack, with something of a chuckle. "I read the report, and I gotta say—"

"Have you noticed anything wrong with Ianto?" Gwen blurted out.

Jack gave her a sudden intense look. "How so?" he asked carefully.

Gwen glanced nervously over the Hub. Ianto could come up from the archives at any moment, and the thought of it made her neck and torso spark with adrenaline. "I just—I feel so silly saying this, but have you noticed lately that he's been a bit, well.... _mean_."

Jack looked away, and Gwen noticed for the first time how he hovered, as if trying to sit on the chair without actually making contact. His collar was crinkled and his bottom lip, right at the fullest part, was a tiny bit purple. "Yes," Jack said lowly. "I know exactly what you're talking about."

Gwen whooshed in relief and sat in the chair, scooting it up right to the edge of Jack's desk. "I'm so glad you said that," she breathed. "It's been nearly intolerable the past few days," she said, leaning forward and fiddling with some space junk cum paperweight.

"Since right after the Earth moved across the universe and back," Jack corroborated, nodding.

Gwen blushed and hid her mouth behind her hand. "This is a bit off-topic, but your Doctor is—"

"I know, isn't he?" Jack blurted out. "Before I met him, I used to think I was pretty clever, but—"

"Blows everyone out of the water, doesn't he?" Gwen giggled. "And then you've got his wee face—"

"I've heard people say he's too skinny?" Jack said. "But really, his suits are just perfect—"

"And his trainers! I've got a pair just like them!" Gwen cried, wiggling said trainers proudly.

"They show his sense of humor," Jack pointed out.

"You can tell he's ready for anything, suit or no," said Gwen, blushing slightly at the images circling her head at the phrase 'or no.'

Jack smirked and squirmed closer over the desk. "You know," he said conspiratorially, "he used to wear a leather jacket."

Gwen's gasp was long, throaty, and made Jack's eyebrows waggle.

"Having a nice chat on company time, are we?"

Gwen shrieked and Jack sat back in his chair so fast he pulled something. Ianto stood unaffectedly in the doorway, silver tie reflecting the glint and shiver of his eyes.

Gwen mustered up a smile from the very bottom of her scared little heart. "Hiya!" she said. "Jack and I were—"

"Gwen was on her way out," Jack said, sounding authoritarian and confident and boss-like. Gwen was very impressed, and shot him an admiring look as she scuttled out of the office. Ianto crossed to Jack's desk, his face composed in a proper simulacrum of the expectant, deferential expression he used to wear sincerely. "Ianto," Jack said gently. "Is there something you want to discuss with me?"

"Oh, yes," said Ianto. He leaned oh-so-precisely over Jack's desk and tapped a finger on the paperwork. "Aren't these the reports that I asked you to finish before close of day yesterday?"

Jack felt his belly twist as he looked at the papers and Ianto's soft-sheened fingernail pressing down on them. "Y-yes," he said.

"You didn't finish them yesterday, did you," Ianto said mildly. "I believe I already expressed my displeasure at that."

Jack shifted in his chair. The creak of leather and his painful hiss were soft, but keen.

Ianto smirked. "I was very generous in giving you a chance to finish up before noon today."

"Gwen distracted me," Jack protested. Ianto's finger flexed warningly, so he quickly added, "I still have fifteen minutes!"

"Make the most of them," Ianto murmured, and was gone.

~~~

The next day, Ianto punched Janet in the neck and Jack decided some things really needed to be sorted out. The first thing was schlepping Janet back into her cell, which was easy enough, but somewhat disturbing because she kept keening high in her throat as if to say, But I didn't _do_ anything!

The second thing to be sorted out was the faintly betrayed look on Gwen's face as she stared dazedly into her coffee, muttering, "I swear this is decaf...." Jack didn't dare touch the coffee machine so he couldn't get her a proper cup, but he did give her a hug and send her down to the corner café for some decent liquid tar.

Ianto narrowed his eyes at that, but Jack stood firm. Ianto's little games were all well and good when they made Jack flush and tremble, but it was working hours now and he was still the boss, dammit. Ok, so he flushed a little bit this time, too, but that was just out of habit.

"We need to talk," he said, pointing at the conference room since his office held a few too many distracting memories at the moment.

Ianto did not quirk his eyebrow. The lack of gesture was eloquent: _I know why you chose the conference room_ , his eyebrow whispered. _But I'll not mention it to save bruising your ego_. Jack found it slightly hysterical that his ego was to be spared bruising, but his shoulders, wrists, belly, thighs, the nape of his neck, the crest of his buttocks, etc., were not. And the ego was only spared sometimes.

It'd been a hell of a week.

" _Now_ ," growled Jack, and pushed past. Knocking his shoulder against Ianto made him feel a bit better, the inherent pettiness of it notwithstanding. He stationed himself in a captainly pose at the head of the table and watched Ianto follow him in, grudgingly pulling off his monogrammed brass knuckles.

Poor Janet.

Ianto set the brass knuckles on the table with a precise _clink_ and slid into the chair, Not Crossing His Arms. His eyebrows were maddeningly— _insolently_ —neutral as he smiled. "Yes, Jack?"

Jack glared. "Ianto, what the hell is your problem?" Ianto opened his mouth and Jack cut in with a warning pointer finger: "Don't you dare tell me nothing's wrong, because I've got a list as long as my arm of your inappropriate behaviors recently. I don't really mind if you beat up on me—I think we both know exactly how much I don't mind, actually—" he added with a lopsided smile, "but you're seriously freaking Gwen out, and now you're terrorizing the aliens. That crosses the line." He leaned back and folded his arms, piercing Ianto with a gaze he had once been told was "crystalline" and "thrilling." There were certain perks to dating an aspiring poet, her disturbing tendency for post-coital metre analysis aside.

Ianto pierced Jack right back, although his gaze was less "crystalline" and more, um, "soft." Squishy, so to speak. Not that Jack had given any serious thought to squishing Ianto's eyeballs (a few fleeting considerations at the most, and what full-blooded man wouldn't? Especially after a week-long vacation in the Horsat galaxies.) At any rate, Ianto's eyes might be soft, but they were definitely belligerent.

"I'm waiting," Jack barked.

Ianto set his jaw. "Let's just say I've experienced a decrease in job satisfaction," he ground out.

Jack studied him for a moment. "Was it something I did?" he asked.

"Of course," said Ianto. "Everything is the result of your existence in some way or another. It's an incontrovertible fact of the universe. Did you know, physicists are now theorizing that the Big Bang was caused by your first wank?"

"Gives new meaning to the Milky Way, doesn't it?" Jack grinned.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Your conversational brilliance has swept me off my feet," he said.

"I'm not used to people saying that sarcastically," Jack said.

Ianto's left eyebrow arched in a way that said _clearly_ and his right eyebrow muttered, _you fucking wanker_.

Ianto must be really upset, Jack thought. Usually his right eyebrow was more polite than that. Jack leaned forward to rest his arms on a chair back and said soothingly, "So we've established that you're not happy with your duties anymore. Can we elaborate on that?"

Ianto scowled at him for a moment more, then sighed and glanced away. "It's not as fulfilling as my last job," he said.

Jack tilted his head to the side. "Torchwood One?"

"No," said Ianto carefully.

Jack thought back on Ianto's resume, which he'd reviewed at least once during the flirt—um, hiring process, he was sure. His face scrunched up as he said, "A floor clerk at Topshop?"

It was times like this when Jack wondered if the vein in Ianto's forehead was going to rip itself from the skin and go on a murderous rampage. Considering that he once saw Ianto's left eyebrow eviscerate a foreign dignitary, the idea wasn't all that far-fetched (ok, that had been a metaphorical evisceration, but _still_.) And unlike the left eyebrow, which was impulsive to a fault, Ianto's forehead-vein didn't have the right eyebrow to talk it down.

Ianto's mouth said simply (yet with a scintillating patina of derision), "No, Jack."

"Ok, how many guesses do I get at this?" asked Jack. "Because I'm just gonna start making stuff up. Like... chimney sweeper. Did you used to be a chimney sweeper?"

"I used to be an intergalactic secret agent," Ianto snapped.

"That was going to be my next guess," said Jack. "You've already got the suits for it."

There was a long silence from the other side of the table, and Jack felt his eyes widen.

"You're serious," Jack breathed.

Ianto didn't answer, but the smugly uplifted corner of his mouth spoke volumes.

"Since _when_?" screeched Jack.

"Last Tuesday," Ianto supplied smoothly. Jack merely goggled at him, so Ianto adjusted his tie with minute flicks of his fingers and proceeded in a calm, measured tone. "Tuesday morning, at about 0900 hours, I was performing my usual duties of cleaning, repair, and general administration. At approximately 9:10, I entered the supply closet at the East end of the third sublevel to obtain some ammonia.

"Immediately upon entering the closet, I was approached by a representative of the Shadow Proclamation, who offered me a position as a free agent on a clandestine task force. After being apprised of the duties and responsibilities, and upon being informed that my decision must be tendered immediately, I consented to the position and left with the representative.

"I performed my duties for a period of eleven and a half months, and was then returned to the supply closet at approximately 9:30." He tilted his head slightly to the side and watched Jack.

There was a few moments of silence, then Jack blurted, "The Shadow Proclamation tapped you for their task force? Man, I always wanted that to happen to me! When I was a kid I walked into every closet I could find, hoping they'd take me, but they never did. Eventually I had to join the Time Agency. Um," he said, with a worried glance at Ianto's forehead, "this conversation isn't about me. So, uh...." he pulled out a chair and dropped into it, splaying his palms restlessly on the table. "Tell me how things went. Were you suave? Sophisticated? Did you sleep with lots of beautiful men and women? Aliens?" He bounced, winced, then settled for wiggling.

"As always as ever, more than ever, yes, and almost," said Ianto.

"Ooh," said Jack. "Did you wear nice suits? Suits from the _future_?"

"Iridescent neo-silk lining," Ianto purred. He leaned slightly over the table. It was a very wide table, but Jack could imagine the plume of Ianto's breath against his face nonetheless. "Wool blends as strong as Kevlar, but as soft as sun-dried cotton," murmured Ianto. His eyelashes settled sultrily against his cheeks. "The tailoring was impeccable."

Jack's mouth went dry.

"Of course," said Ianto, slumping back, "they took all of those suits away when they fired me."

Jack abruptly switched his facial expression to 'Aroused (Within Normal Parameters)' to 'Sympathetic (Very), Subexpression Curious (Only Slightly, But More Than I Should Be).' Jack was good at determining when the tone of a conversation had changed because he'd had a lot of practice, especially with humans. Humans were easy. Ice Warriors? Not so much. Ice Warriors were also frigid in bed.

"Why were you fired?" Jack asked tentatively.

Ianto twitched. The vein in his forehead and his right eyebrow were clearly winding each other up. The left eyebrow seemed to be staying out of it, which was unfortunate; the left eyebrow was the one with the sense of humor.

"My final mission," Ianto said tightly, "was to protect a munitions factory per information that it was being targeted by an independent agent." He steepled his fingers and glared at Jack over the tips of them.

Jack shifted uncomfortably as expression 'Aroused' fought for dominance, this time at Level (This is Going to Hurt But I Like It Anyway,) Subexpression Eagerness (There Is Something Wrong With My Survival Instincts.)

"The munitions factory specialized in sonic weapons," Ianto said significantly, "and was located at Villengard."

 _We have been grievously mistreated_ , hissed his right eyebrow.

 _Let's kill them all!_ the forehead vein agreed.

"Oh," said Jack. He scratched his head. "So you don't like bananas anymore, then?"

Ianto snarled and leapt up from the table, sending the chair careening backwards into the wall with an angry _clunk_. Jack ran to cut him off at the door—this was not a conversation that needed to be left unfinished—and found himself slammed against the wall with Ianto gripping the front of his shirt.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't that bad a position to be in. Jack felt a tingle of Anticipation, Level (Someone is Touching Me, Yay!)

"Ianto," Jack said soothingly, albeit somewhat tremulously. "I shouldn't have been flip, I'm sorry." He brought up his hands to rub Ianto's shoulders comfortingly, careful not to dislodge or discourage the white-knuckled clench on his chest. Ianto would feel guilty later for wrinkling his shirt, Jack was sure. "But really, Ianto, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. The Doctor bamboozles just about everyone."

"Oh, does he," said Ianto, eyes slitting dangerously. "The Doctor must be magnificent, then. The best thing since sliced bread. The hope of mankind, the savior of the universe, the reason you get up in the morning. And aren't his _shoes_ —" Ianto's voice skudded deep in his throat, "just so darling and _kicky_." He snarled the last and crammed Jack harder against the wall.

"They're just Chucks," Jack said breathlessly. "They're not even alien or from the future. Gwen's got a pair exactly like them!" Ianto didn't respond to that (although his forehead vein seemed somewhat thoughtful) so Jack added enticingly, "Would you like a pair? We could go shopping!"

Ianto's right eyebrow said archly that Jack had rather missed the point. And he was still a wanker.

"Ok, look," said Jack. "I know you're bitter and disappointed, and I don't blame you—being an agent for the Shadow Proclamation is a seriously sweet job—but don't you think you're misdirecting that anger? I can see how Gwen and I pissed you off by expressing our admiration of the Doctor, although," he added firmly, "I can assure you that was completely unintentional. However, I'm at a loss to figure out what Janet did wrong. Seriously, Ianto. The neck?"

Ianto's gaze flickered away for a moment, brows knit together in a pow-wow, muttering, _By golly, he's right! We're an ass!_

"I—" Ianto dropped his hands from Jack's shirt and made to step away, but Jack pulled him into a very manly hug, complete with hair stroking and shushy noises and compassionate arm-tightening when Ianto went squirmy and tried to get away. Jack hoped Ianto would cry, since that could be very therapeutic, and Jack always felt strong yet sensitive when people cried on his shoulder, like Hirould Marset in the old 40s film _No Route to Sol_. The film came out in 3746, actually, which meant that no-one here would get the reference (the team thought Jack was witty, but really he was just quoting lines from that classic holographic adventure serial, _Captain What_ ) so Jack decided that if he ever needed an analogy for how strong yet sensitive he was, the 1940s and Humphrey Bogart would do.

Ianto didn't seem to be crying, though—just breathing in measured gusts that tickled Jack's collarbone—so Jack kissed his forehead and said, "Do you want to go to Paris? You know, just to get your mind off things?"

Ianto leaned back to look at Jack, and although his eyes were attractively dewy, his right eyebrow was still somewhat sour. "Jack," said Ianto. "I've been to Barcelona. The _planet_. Paris isn't going to do much for me now."

"It was just a thought," said Jack.

Ianto gave him a sort of slanty look. "You know what _would_ cheer me up," he said, and Jack's standard level of Hopeful (Someone In This Postal Code is Probably Thinking About Sex with Me) ratcheted up to Level (Someone In This Room is Probably Thinking About Sex with Me.) Ianto curled up the corner of his mouth and purred, "I want a promotion. And a sizeable pay-raise."

Jack's level of Hopeful didn't change, but somewhere in his brain the Rapid Denial and Rationalization machine kicked in. "Pay-raise" could have a double meaning, after all. Jack grinned.

"You must admit, my CV is much more impressive now," said Ianto. The left eyebrow, now that the situation had returned to something familiar, arched suggestively. Specifically, it suggested, _You know I am so right. And so cute._

"If I say no, are you going to tie me up and hit me again?" asked Jack warily.

"Yes," said Ianto. "If you give me the promotion I'll do that anyway, but you'll get a turn sometime. And I'll stop being mean to Gwen and Janet."

Jack pretended to think about that. Pretending was the best he could do, since Ianto's left eyebrow was currently broadcasting slippery images of ropes, belt buckles, and Ianto's small pink mouth stretched wide. The right eyebrow was being sulky and not saying anything. Slow to anger, slow to forgive and all that.

"Apples," said Jack.

Ianto blinked. "What?"

"You have to be nice to apples, too," Jack said. "I mean, aliens. Unless they're mean first."

"Agreed, with one exception," said Ianto. His forehead vein made one last pulse of an appearance. "If I ever see the Doctor again, I'm going to punch him in the neck. Janet was just practice."

 _You know he deserves it_ , said the forehead vein.

 _Just agree to the terms, you scurrilous ape_ , said the right eyebrow.

The left eyebrow said, _We'll make it worth your while_.

"Deal," said Jack.

For the first time in a long while, Ianto smiled without a hint of malice.


End file.
